


No Regrets

by K9_DFTBA



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, Get Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Texting, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K9_DFTBA/pseuds/K9_DFTBA
Summary: “Heya spidey,”“Wanna be my plus one to the party of the century?”“It’s gonna be LIT AF!!!”“That’s what the kids are saying these days right???”(In which Peter is the life of the party, and there are a surprising amount of feels for a story that was meant to be about Peter being happy.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline is a lie. This takes place in the Day of Future Past continuum, but Xavier and Erik and Raven are all still pretty young despite the fact that it has to be like at least 2014, but Peter is also of age. Who knows when this takes place. There is a Logan reference, despite the fact that I haven't seen it, but I'm determined to keep messing with time until everyone is happy. Also, a reference to the Spiderman trailer. Assume any repeated phrases or odd seeming tense changes or the like are purposeful. The () and {} are the boxes-- it doesn't matter which is which. Peter's attitude towards himself, feeling like a lesser person from himself (Spiderman) is not a healthy mindset-- all in all the perspectives of the characters are not all healthy, don't forget that. The last like three sections are unedited. This is some weird shit, y'all, but I wrote it to make myself happy-- I hope it makes you happy, too.

_ “Heya spidey,” _

_ “Wanna be my plus one to the party of the century?” _

_ “It’s gonna be LIT AF!!!” _

_ “That’s what the kids are saying these days right???” _

There was a pause in the erratic texts, and Peter sighed. He began typing out a reply, but ended up backspacing through  it as he received another message from Wade. 

_ “Whatever,” _

_ “Anyway,”  _

_ “The x-dudes are throwing a big shebang for Misty’s bday,” _

_ Misty?  _ Peter questioned of himself, not bothering to type out the question to the merc. He wouldn’t be able to send it before Wade sent another, anyway. 

_ “What even is a shebang,” _

_ “Idk,” _

_ “But it’s a big deal,” _

_ “The Prof and his boy even called a truce for the day,” _

_ “It's a big deal,” _

_ “May never be another party with this many supers in one place again,” _

_ “EVER,” _

_ “Well unless you appreciate alien invasions for the parties that they are,” _

_ “Like I do, i mean, DUH, when else can i unalive so much without someone getting onto me,” _

_ “And not in the good way,” _

_ “Being all like,” _

_ “ ‘I’m not angry at you, im just disappointed :(((((((,” _

_ “I hope u read that in ur own voice,” _

_ “Basically baby boy this is a golden opportunity,”  _

_ “And it is my responsibility to make sure you take it,” _

There was a pause, but Peter wasn’t sure he was done yet, so he waited. 

_ “So??????” _

Peter was certain he would regret this. But, then again, he thought he would regret teaming up with the merc in the first place. When he started to get to know him as Wade, instead of as deadpool, he thought he would regret that. And yet, here he was. Not regretting a thing, but still wondering how this had become his life. 

How many people could say that they were woken up at one o’clock in the morning by an exuberant mercenary blowing up there phone? Peter didn’t know the answer to that question, but a voice deep in his mind whispered that he was lucky to be one of them. Peter hummed in agreement with himself, but then pushed the voice out of his mind. Maybe a kid with fewer inhibitions and less baggage would act on that voice. Maybe a kid who was never Spiderman. Peter Parker, though, he ignored it. 

But that didn’t mean he had to ignore such a good invitation. 

_ “Sure, I’ll go. Who’s Misty?” _

* * *

 

(What? He’s actually coming?) 

{OH EM GEE! He’s actually coming!}

(Why would he actually agree to go with us? US?)

{Oh, shut up! Let me enjoy this!}

“Why don’t you both shut up so that  _ I  _ can enjoy this?” Wade mumbled, still staring unbelievingly at the phone. 

It hurt to look at the bright light source in the blacked out room, but he persisted, convinced the message would disappear if he looked away. 

(He didn’t even say anything about us waking him up.)

{Maybe he doesn’t mind? He says he doesn’t mind talking to us. He’s said that before.}

(Or maybe he was already awake.)

{Do you think someone is there with him? We should ask. We should kill whoever it is.}

Wade nodded in agreement, but, then…

“No, we can’t do that. That would just make Spidey sad.”

{I want blood. No one touches Spidey but us.}

Surprisingly, it wasn’t pointed out that Wade didn’t actually touch the Spider, and that he had no authority to decide who did. Instead, the more negative of his boxes hummed noncommittally, but also considerately. It was the closest thing he had ever come to agreement where his beloved Spider was concerned. 

“No objections?” Wade asked.

(No one touches Spidey.)

“You really do care,” Wade purred as he set his phone down, and drifted of to sleep, ignoring the sun sneaking its way under his black out curtains.

* * *

 

Peter woke, feeling ill at ease and unrested, with his phone on his chest. He checked it, and found that Wade had never responded. Not being one for plans, he probably hadn’t found it necessary. Peter decided to assume Wade would come pick him up later, and to move on with his day.

Or, at least, he tried. 

He took a shower, and got dressed. And then he ended up staring into his closet for half an hour wondering what he would wear later. He sat down at his computer hoping to get some work done, but he just ended up watching the clock wondering what time Wade was coming by. 

He was acting like a kid-- self conscious and awkward-- and he hated it. His head felt foggy and he wondered if maybe Wade keeping him up for a few hours that morning wasn’t part of the problem. 

He glanced away from his computer, wishing to give his tired eyes a break, when he spotted his red and blue spandex suit, and a thought occurred to him. This wasn’t Peter Parker, self conscious and awkward kid, going to a party. This was confident and witty spiderman going to a party. And, either way, he decided, Wade would be there. Maybe it sounded crazy, but, in Peter’s experience, things always seemed to work out when the merc was around.      

Calmer now with some spidery confidence in the back of his mind, he decided to make some lunch. It was surprisingly late on the day, but Peter had slept in, for obvious reasons. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon-- he deserved some food.

He was about halfway through making one of the few meals he could make when his phone dinged. 

_ “Hey baby boy,” _

_ “Hope you’re decent.”  _

_ “I’ll be up in two.” _

Despite knowing where Peter lived, Wade had never pried into his secret identity. With his skill set, he could have easily figured out who he was under the mask, especially after Peter had let him know where he lived, but he hadn’t. In fact, he always warned him before he came over, so that Peter had time to get his mask on. Peter wondered if maybe Wade simply wasn’t interested in getting to know the person behind the mask, but was still appreciative. If he could trust anyone with his secret identity it was Wade, but he still wanted that decision to be made of his own volition, not because Wade decided to barge into his apartment. 

He snagged one of the spare masks that were haphazardly thrown on various surfaces of his apartment for occasions such as this, and pulled it on just in time for his door to swing open. 

“Hey Spiderbaby, daddy’s home!” Wade called, and, oh, wasn’t that interesting.

Interesting because, lately, Wade had been pulling back on the nicknames-- no, pet names-- except over text. Not that he minded, or anything…

He glanced over his shoulder to looked for Wade, who was being oddly silent, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face very suddenly with the wide, blank eyes of the Deadpool mask. Relieved when he realized it was just Wade, he went back to cooking. He was about to make a comment about him being earlier than expected, but Wade spoke first. 

“Are those  _ quesadillas _ ?” he asked, sounding awe struck.

Peter hummed his agreement, and moved to flip one of the cheesy messes. As he did so, though, it was plucked off his spatula by a red gloved hand.

“Hey!” he whined, with no real heat or surprise. 

Wade moaned loudly as he bit into the food, mask pulled up to just above his nose, and Peter decided he was perfectly fine with Wade stealing it. 

He moaned again, just as loudly if not louder than he had before, and began walking out of the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Peter asked, vaguely alarmed.   

“Gotta go pick out your outfit, Spidey. You think I’m gonna let you dress yourself?” He said, mouth full, “Pssh, think again!” he exclaimed, before bouncing towards Peter’s bedroom. 

Peter sighed in disbelief-- a fond sort of disbelief.

* * *

 

As they entered the party, already in full swing, in a shocking turn of events Wade was completely comfortable in his surroundings. One would think he would be more paranoid than usual in such an overpowered room, but no, he was calm. 

(For everyone here who would kills us there is someone here who would die for us. We don’t deserve it, but we’re safe. For now.)

Wade hummed his agreement as they made their way further into  the venue. 

{Besides, Spidey won’t let anything happen to us, right Wade?}

Wade gave a small shrug in response. There was a quiet pause in the conversation as Wade glanced around the room. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he’d know when he saw it. 

(C’mon, let’s show off the pretty spider while we have the chance.)

Wade spotted a Jackman-esque figure at the bar, and realized what, or rather who, he had been looking for. He glanced at his spider.

“C’mon, I wanna show you off to all my friends,” he said, echoing the box’s sentiment but carefully leaving out the pessimism, as he began to lead Spiderman towards the bar. 

The young hero laughed at his comment, and that,  _ that right there _ , was why Wade wanted to show him off. Several heads had turned towards them at the musical, uninhibited sound of the hero’s laugh, and the eyes followed them once they found its source. It was rare to hear a laugh so unburdened amongst this group of party goers. But the laugh wasn’t why he wanted to show him off, not really…

_ He doesn’t laugh like that for everyone.  _ We  _ do that,  _ a little voice inside his head was whispering, and this time, the voice wasn’t a byproduct of torture. It was just him.

* * *

 

After the bit of banter that came with introducing Peter to “Wolvie,” Hawkeye had come over to join the conversation, and Peter was completely forgotten about. Well, that was an exaggeration. Peter wasn’t really involved in the conversation-- something about guns and video games-- but Wade seemed to just be happy to be in Peter’s presence. And happy? Happy was a look Peter lov-- liked, a look Peter liked, oh fuck it-- a look Peter Parker Aka Spiderman  _ loved  _ to see on Wade Fucking Wilson. There, he admitted it, if only to himself.  

So, yeah, Peter would have enjoyed sitting there and silently appreciating the lines of a quiet smile he could see through the familiar Deadpool mask, but he was getting antsy. He glanced over at Natasha, a fellow Spider who was also standing by, uninvolved in the conversation. She was cleaning under her nails with a knife. He wondered if she did it for the irony-- it was just so stereotypical, and she was much too elegant for the action to not seem of of place. Or maybe she just liked being scary. 

He stepped a little farther away from the conversation, and towards the Black Widow, glancing at the dance floor packed with drunken mutants and supers as he did so. And then, he did the most ballsy thing anyone had ever done.

“You wanna dance, Widow?”

The assassin stopped moving and looked up at him, making eye contact for several seconds as she wiped nonexistent dust off of her blade with a bare hand. He began to look down, feeling chastised, but then he remembered. This was not Peter Parker being rejected by some girl he liked, this was Spiderman, asking for a dance from a colleague and friend. Sure, Natasha deserved respect, but he deserved some too. 

Feeling more comfortable, and maybe a little confident, he held his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, dude, I’m not hitting on you. You’re way out of my league. It's just,” he gestures vaguely to the ceiling, “This is my  _ song _ , and it doesn’t seem smart to walk into a crowd of drunken mutants, especially without someone watching you back. Well, at least,” he pauses and waves over the bar tender, who looks a bit overwhelmed, “it's a bad idea if you’re still sober,” he finishes with a flourish. 

Boldly, he ordered two of one of his go to drinks. It’s strong and not so well known, at first glance seems stereotypically masculine, but it has a surprisingly strong fruity overtone and a nearly floral aftertaste. It isn’t for the faint of heart, and it isn’t for those uncomfortable with a little femininity. He thought Natasha would appreciate it. 

The bartender gave  him the two glasses, and he shyly handed one to Natasha, figuring she wouldn’t appreciate too much fake bravado. She accepted it with the same hand loosely holding her knife, and took a dainty sip. She gave a small smile of approval, and Peter let out a sigh of relief. Belatedly, he remembered Natasha is Russian, and wondered at just how risky it was to order her a drink. 

Her barely there upward turn of lips didn’t disappear as she spoke. 

“Maybe,” she paused, considerate, before nodding to herself, “a trivial dance is in order,” she paused again, and she began to remind him of Severus Snape, but, like, in a good way.

“I trust you,” she finished. 

Peter knew why she said it, but he wished she didn’t have to. These were  _ good people  _ here. Good people turned genocidal because of one, or in some cases two, genocides. And it wasn’t just them, either. All of these people were dangerous because they lived in a dangerous world, and god damnit if Peter didn’t hate it sometimes. They deserved so much better. Maybe he was just an angry kid, but he despised that no one in the room, none of  _ his friends _ , could just feel safe. 

He dispelled these thoughts from his head, and raised his glass to the Black Widow. She mirrored the motion, and they drank. He motioned for the bartender again, and ordered two more of the drink, but this time added a dark craft beer.    

“One sec,” Peter said, nodding over to Wade in explanation. 

She nodded too, and fell into place at his side, a companionable distance away, as he moved the few feet over to talk to Wade. And that, that was interesting. The Black Widow didn’t follow anyone anywhere, not even a few steps. Not that Peter noticed, really. 

“Wade?” he said, to get his attention, as he placed the beer in Deadpool’s hand, which had been held slightly aloft in an exaggerated gesture. 

Wade snapped to attention. Or, maybe not  _ snapped _ . The motion wasn’t fast-- it was very natural-- but to anyone who knew Wade Wilson, it was a snap. Because Wade Wilson didn’t listen to anyone. No one got his attention, except aliens and dirtbags. And, apparently, Spiderman.

Over Peter’s shoulder, Natasha raised her eyebrows at Clint, and darted her eyes at Peter and Wade, and then back. He shrugged in reply, looking overworked. It was an expression that said,  _ “When do we ever know with Wade?” _ Natasha pursed her lips in agreement. 

“Natasha and I are going to go dance, alright? Don’t get anyone killed while I’m not paying attention.”

Despite the first part being phrased as a question, it was obvious no part of his words was a request. 

Wade gave a mock salute, but, really, there was nothing mocking about it. To the befuddlement of the gathered supers, Wade was seriously respecting his statement. Peter noticed their confusion, and he felt a little warm. Maybe it was silly to feel special for being the person the infamous Deadpool listened to, but that didn’t stop a little smile tugging at the corners of his mask-covered mouth at the thought.

This time, Clint was the one to begin the silent conversation between the two assassins.  _ “You’re gonna dance with the kid?”  _ his expression asked. She gave a sharp grin, and a small shrug, but then the grin faded into a fond smile as she glanced at Peter and then rolled her eyes.  _ “He’s fun,” _ the silent language said, in explanation. She was scarcely so emotive. Clint was impressed.   

Peter turned to Natasha, and their conversation ended. 

“You don’t want to carry that on the floor, do you?” he asked, gesturing to her drink. 

It wasn’t a sarcastic question-- he was legitimately asking-- so despite the answer being seemingly obvious, she gave a minute shake of her head. 

He grinned at her and took her drink, before turning back to the group.

“Wolvie, you’re dangerous, will you watch our drinks for us?” he questioned. 

Wolverine looked a little amused, and a little confused, but he nodded.

“Sure thing, bub, whatever you want.”

Peter cheered inside his head. Logan was decent to him! Maybe even  _ nice _ ! He was pleased, even if he wouldn’t admit to himself exactly  _ why  _ it meant so much to him that Wade’s friends liked him. 

“Hey!” Wade exclaimed, jerking Peter out of his thoughts, “I’m dangerous!”

There was a beat of silence. Wade pouted at him.  _ Pouted.  _ Sure, sooo dangerous. Peter set the drinks down by Logan’s arm, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, ‘Pool,” he said, patting him as if he were a small child. 

Clint’s jaw actually dropped. 

As Peter began walking away, Natasha made eye contact with him, and echoed his earlier shrug, before turning and following the Spider.

Once on the dance floor, Peter finally figured out who Misty was. Mystique. And she was a  _ great  _ dancer.

* * *

 

“What the fuck,” Clint stated more than asked, once Spiderman was out of earshot.  

“No, I second that. What the fuck? Does Spiderkid not realize killing people is literally your job?” Tony Stark, who had appeared at Clint’s side sometime during a discussion on advanced weaponry, asked, sounding a bit outraged. 

Wade knew the guy wasn’t trying to be rude, he was just protective of Spidey. But still. 

(He’s right. Spidey should be more afraid of you.)

Even the usually kind box gave a noise of agreement. 

“We wouldn’t hurt Spidey,” Wade, said quietly, meaning it to be to himself.

The group heard him regardless. 

“Besides, we don’t really unalive anymore. Not that much, anyway,” he said, to the group as a whole, but the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

He was arguing the finer points of Stark’s statement, but not refuting that the Spider should be more afraid of him. Yet, this was a different side of Wade they were seeing. The situation had obviously pushed him a little more into mental instability, with the referring to himself in the plural, but he was also surprisingly somber. Even Logan seemed to be seeing him in a different light. 

“He’s a good kid,” Clint began after a moment, decidedly, “If he doesn’t think Dp is dangerous to him, he isn’t.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him. It was not a subtle expression. 

“What? He got Nat to dance with him. I’ll get behind anyone who can do that.”

There was more depth to that statement than it came across, and they all knew it. Clint’s carefree attitude did not cancel out his intelligence. He, like the Black Widow, was a master assassin, after all.           

There was silence for a moment before:

“Enough!” Stark said, punctuated by a clap, “This is a party! No more serious!” he finished with an exaggerated pout.

Just as several of the group were about to quip back a response simultaneously, a quiet whirring was heard and they all fell silent; first the mutants, Logan and Wade, and then the supers, Tony and Clint. The professor was rolling up. 

{Hehehehe. Rolling up.}

(Shut up. That’s insensitive. We want him to like us, remember?)

The boxes fell silent. 

“While I tend to concur with Mr. Stark, I would like to pull Wade away for a quick chat, if you don’t mind,” Xavier said. 

“Anything for you, Prof!” Wade said, before skipping towards him happily.  

They didn’t bother moving to far away. The conversation would seem rather confusing to anyone overhearing, anyway. 

Xavier cocked his head at him in question, and Wade nodded enthusiastically. Consent granted, Xavier entered Wade’s mind, and to the merc it was a relief. It may seem odd that having another voice in his head made Wade feel better, but it did. The professor was the only other person in the world, that Wade  knew of, at least, that could really experience what the boxes were like. That sort of empathy was a powerful thing. 

(Hello, Sir.)

“Hello to you, too. Have you been well?” Xavier answered, aloud, as the boxes preferred. 

The box hummed noncommittally. Despite seeming rude, this was truly a respectful answer. The other options were to lie or to sadden the professor significantly. 

“I see,” the professor said, sounding tired.

The professor always sounded tired, these days. Especially in someone’s mind. Wade thought he was still far too young to sound so tired. He did look older, with his recent hair loss, but he wished it didn’t so closely reflect the professors actual state. 

“Thank you for bringing him,” Xavier said, pulling Wade purposely back to the present moment.  

_ “Spidey?” _  Wade answered mentally. 

The professor nodded. 

“He’s a good influence,” the professor said verbally, before confiding mentally,  _ “We’ve been having a rough time with Mystique lately,”  _ the name sounded awkward in the professor's mouth, even when he said it mentally,  _ “She’s torn between lives. She won’t show her mutant self around me, and she won’t show her… fleshy self around Erik. She won’t be who she wants anywhere.” _

Wade nodded in understanding and sympathy. 

“And yet, look,” Xavier said, motioning to the dance floor. 

Peter was slowing coaxing everyone who seemed most unwilling to dance into doing so. As Wade looked over, he was directing wide, reflective mask, eyes towards the teenage dirtbag. Wade wondered if she was even old enough to be at the party. As Wade watched, Spidey said something to the girl; Xavier, who was listening in through their minds, helpfully supplied that he had complimented her dark lipstick. She didn’t budge, but if the other people of the dance floor were anything to go by, he would crack her eventually. 

Oh, and there was one of his success stories. Mystique. She was in her ‘fleshy’ form, dancing somewhat erotically with the Black Widow. Then again, Wade would find anything two women as dangerous as them did together erotic. As he looked on, Spidey, in an attempt to tempt the teenager by example, cut into the women’s dance, and stole away Mystique, to be his partner. After a moment of dancing with the younger spider, she changed into her mutant form, clearly for no other reason than because she wanted to. Wade wondered if she thought the aesthetic was better: the blue of her skin with the red of his mask, and the blue shirt Wade had picked for him. Wade appreciated the image.

Xavier chuckled, making his amusement at the fact that Wade had picked the Spider’s outfit known. 

“He isn’t ignorant, Wade, and he isn’t as carefree as he seems. He has his problems, but this is the person he chooses to be; a happy person. Partly for his own protection, largely for the benefit of others,” the professor says, and then pauses, letting his words sink in, “I think maybe that’s why you two work together.”

_ He deserves better _ , echoed in Wade’s mind without his volition. The professor frowned. They were silent, watching as Spidey moved on to his next victim. He approached Erik, who had been sitting silently, unapproachable, eyes tracking Mystique and carefully avoiding Xavier. The spider swayed on his feet a little as he offered a hand to Magneto, beckoning him towards the dance floor.

_ He’s lucky he's a cute drunk and not a sloppy one, or else that liquid courage he's using would be working against him _ , Wade thought to Xavier, sounding almost rueful. 

The pair watched in shock as Erik considered the hero for a moment, and then stood up, following to the dance floor. When they reached the middle, the Spider stopped suddenly, reaching into a dense crowd of people, and somehow managing to pull out none other than Mystique. In a surprisingly smooth motion, Spidey pushed the currently blond girl into the older man’s unsuspecting arms. Mystique looked at him, and tried to feign a look of betrayal. 

“That went… surprisingly well,” the professor said aloud.

“I wonder, though, if anyone willing to risk doing that hasn't had a bit too much,” the professor concluded, not so subtly trying to compel Wade into action. 

Wade didn't budge. The professor sighed. They watched as the professors two best friends in the world, now mostly estranged from him, began to dance. 

“I have a lot of regrets, Deadpool. By all accounts, I did what was right at every turn. I stuck to my values. I treated them well, loved them as best I could-- I let them make their own decisions, even when the world was at stake. I can't do that for everyone. And yet… I have regrets. I wonder if there was anything I could have done differently,

I'm giving you an excuse to take him home. Stop worrying about doing the right thing and just… just take the opportunity. No regrets, Wade.”

Wade sighed.

“Whatever you say, Professor,” he said, but he didn't mean it.

He understood what the professor meant, he just didn't agree. But that didn't mean he wouldn't take Spidey home. 

Wade patted the professor on the back, and began to walk away, but then…

He turned suddenly and grabbed the professor’s hand. He clutched it desperately.

“The writer lady wants me to remind you to take your meds. I think she's crazy, trying to change the timeline, but…” he trailed off, and glanced to Wolverine over his shoulder, before sweeping his gaze to the other faces in the room, “it's worth trying,” he finished.

Xavier was about to agree, and dismiss him, writing off the warning, but he stopped. Everyone thought, no,  _ knew  _ Wade was crazy, he talked to himself. Except, Xavier knew that just like Wade wasn't only human, he knew that those voices weren't just illness. The xgene manifested in an infinite variety of ways, some more harmful to the host than others. So why not this? It wasn't what the weapon x program had intended, but was anything? He couldn't dismiss such a specific warning. 

Plus, The mercenary looked somewhere between terrified and heartbroken, and that was an abnormal sight. Anything that could cause it was not something Xavier wanted to see come to pass. 

“Of course. Thank you,” he said, with a considerate tilt of his head, sincerity coloring his accented voice.

Wade patted the back of the professor’s hand joyfully, and, the moment sufficiently broken, he bounced off to get his boy.

* * *

 

“Steeeeeeve!” Peter whined, “It's just sad! You never dance.”

Peter was sat, peering up at him in a childlike manner. Steve huffed, the older, sober, man amused by his antics. Tony, sitting with them, watching , was also amused, and also sober, for about three months now.

“Why won’t you dance?” Peter asked, or more accurately, pleaded.

He saw Wade approaching. He didn’t look away from Steve, in case the captain thought him distracted, but he made grabby hands at the mercenary. Some more alert part of his brain whispered angrily that he was being undignified. For the moment, he was unconcerned, as Wade took the empty stool between him and Tony, and slipped under his arm to support him. 

“Well?” Peter reiterated to Steve.

Steve got a faraway look for a second.

“Well, son, I guess I’m just waitin’ for the right partner,” he said, voice taking on a wisp of a Brooklyn accent. 

“High standards!” Wade said, sounding gleeful, “That’s good. You could learn something from our good old captain, Spidey.”

“High standards,” Peter repeated, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, “No, I don’t like it. Steve?”

Steve gave a little smile.

“No, I’m not sure that’s the right word for it.”

He turned to Wade, and leaned into whisper, as if he was sharing a secret. 

“He’s just waiting for the right partner, Wade…” he got quieter, though all three men could still hear him, “that isn’t a set of standards, that's one person,” he finished, conspiratorially. 

Wade looked bemused, and unbelieving.     

“That's a…. real nice perspective, Spidey. Optimistic.”

“I'm not sure if optimism is the right word for it,” Steve responded, but he sounded far away.

Peter understood what he was thinking. He reached over and reverently took the captain’s hand.

“Well, maybe not one person,” Peter amended, “maybe a few. Or maybe whoever you're willing to work for. I don't know, Steve. But I think it'll work out for you.”

Steve looked a little uncomfortable towards being comforted, but not unhappy about it. If it had been anyone else, besides maybe an avenger, Steve would have pulled his hand away. But this was Peter, who was basically a son to Tony, and that meant Peter and Steve had something special too, even if Steve didn't know why. Peter, though, he did know why. And, right then, he was just uninhibited enough to do something about it.

Steve held onto him for a moment longer.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, pulling away and giving him a pat on the back.

Tony watched the whole exchange with interest. He looked stressed, and just about ready to wave over the bartender. 

Peter looked him straight in the eye.

“You don't need it,” he stated, not threateningly, just truthfully. 

Tony nodded. He would appreciate the vote of confidence later, when his mind wasn't otherwise occupied, clouded by frustration and addiction. 

Peter yawned, and Wade seemed to see that as a good segue. 

“Think we should be headed out, Spidey? I think you've helped everyone in this joint, you can put the crusade to rest.”

“One day more,” Peter mumbled in reply, but he began to stand.

“I'm not sure if our situation directly parallels that one, Spidey,” Wade said.

“Crusade, knights. Eh. Everyone here is pretty miserable, Wade. I see parallels,” he said, a bit out of character for someone many would dub a happy drunk.

Peter took the mercs hand, leaning on him heavily. Peter figured he would have pulled away if Wade didn't think he was keeping him safe.

Peter made a move towards the door, but stopped, looking thoughtful.

“Hey, mom?”

It took a long moment for Tony to realize he was being addressed, and then arise from the recesses of his mind to reply. He looked fondly exasperated at being called ‘mom,’ but he never could deny the spiderkid.

“Hm?”

“I think you might be the best dancer I know. Why don't you show Steve what a good partner looks like.”

Tony glanced to Steve nervously. Steve’s face was carefully blank. 

“I don't know…” he said, and Peter could see him going back into his own mind.

Peter hummed one line of a recognizable tune:  _ anything you can do I can do better _ . He leaned into Wade, pointedly. It was a clear challenge.

_ I'm gonna make a play for my guy _ , the gesture said,  _ Are you? _

Tony mumbled something about liquid courage.

“I don't want you to be like me, Tony, I want you to be better,” Peter parroted, a bit condescendingly. 

He was being purposely inflammatory. Tony knew it, but it still worked. It was a good excuse, at the very least. 

Tony stood, and began to walk, swaying his hips a little, over to Steve. Peter turned away, and began leading Wade towards the door; he didn't need to watch to know what was happening. The only ones who had any doubts were the two men themselves. 

“Take me home, Wade?”

* * *

 

The merc huffed a little laugh at the spider’s request-- as if he wasn't going to regardless. 

“Of course, baby boy. Whatever you want. Yours or mine?”

“Yours. I like it better there… it smells like you.”

“Whatever you say.”

{*sigh* “It smells like you.” He's so cute.}

(As if smelling like us is a good thing. We smell like blood and old Mexican food.)

Wade hummed in agreement with the box. Regardless, he was happy Spidey had chosen his pent house. It was much nicer, and, though Wade liked the Spider’s apartment for much the same reasons he claimed to like Wade’s, the merc hoped home field advantage might make him feel a little less out of sorts. He was hopeful it might even give him a little more self control-- with the professor's words still echoing in his mind, it was getting harder and harder to not wrap his spider up in a safe hug and never let him go. 

They walked into Wade’s building.

“Wade, carry me! I can’t make it up so many floors by myself!”

“Spidey, we’re taking the elevator.”

“Waaaaaade.”

Wade jammed the button for the elevator. 

The boy leaning on him suddenly pulled away, but only for a moment, before jumping into his arms, wrapping his legs around Wade’s waist. Wade, thankfully, reacted quickly, wrapping his arms under the younger boys thighs and hiking him up into a more stable position. The spider wrapped his hands around Wade’s back, slowly, as if feeling the muscles shift. He laid his cheek on the mercs shoulder, breathing deeply.

(He’s gonna be the death of you.) 

{Just Wadey? Not all of us?}

The other box didn’t answer. For once, they fell silent. Sometimes, Spidey had that effect on them. It was peaceful. 

They arrived to his apartment, and Wade showed off a little, holding him with one arm as he unlocked the door with the other. The hero hummed happily. 

“Take me to bed now, Wade.” 

Wade groaned internally.

“Ok, baby.”

Wade tucked him under the covers, and was quickly pulled in after him, in a show of spider strength. Wade shivered a bit. It was pitch black in the room. The Spider seemed to have taken advantage of this, because, as he began to nuzzle into Wade’s shoulder, he felt lose, longish hair brushing his shoulder. He carefully did not think about how it would feel to rub his hands through it, to tug on it. 

His baby boy  sighed contentedly. For a second, Wade could believe they could be something. 

The Spider began mouthing at Wade’s neck. The merc writhed a bit, barely noticeable. Spidey hooked his thumbs under Wade’s mask. He pulled it up, just a little. 

“Wade? Stop me if you…” 

He pulled his mask, slowly, until it was all the way removed. Wade didn’t stop him. Suddenly, the Spider’s mouth is on his, kissing him as if it's the only way he could breath. Wade’s hands landed on the Spider’s hips, beginning to gravitate back, until he came back to himself. 

Suddenly realizing what was happening, Wade pushed him away, lifting his hips and pushing them down onto the bed, holding him down. The move backfired when the Spider groaned loudly, but Wade was still able to persist. 

“You’ll regret this in the morning.”

The younger moaned again, shuddering under his hands, but slowly came back to himself.

“I won’t,” he began vehemently, “I won’t. And I’ll prove it to you in the morning, so you better not run off, scaredy cat.”

“As if I could deny you, Spidey.”

“You’re doing a pretty good job so far,” he replied, before snuggling up to the merc, preparing to go to sleep. 

“Good Night, baby boy.” 

“I love it when you call me that,” Spidey whispered. 

Wade didn’t reply, instead wrapping an arm around his slighter frame, as they drifted off to sleep together.

* * *

 

Wade woke to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. 

Light, white, morning light, was spilling into his room. He could feel someone hovering above him before he could see them-- they had one leg slung over him, in a more sensual version of a straddle. When he finally saw him, his breath caught. Mid-length brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, pink cheeks, long eyelashes-- he was beautiful. 

The beautiful boy caressed his face-- his bare face. He ran his hand over his scars, and he didn’t run, or scream. 

“Spidey?” Wade asked, barely allowing himself to hope, but not seeing another possibility. 

“Peter. My name is Peter Parker.”

Spidey-- Peter’s-- face came closer. 

“Baby boy,” he said, reverently, “you’re beautiful.”

“You loved me before you saw my face though, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question.

Peter kissed up his neck, before stopping to hover right above his lips.

“No regrets, Wade.”

* * *

 

“Remind me to send the Prof a gift basket.”

“Whatever you want, Daddy.”

“Mmm… you're going to regret saying that.”

“You know? I don’t think I will.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I told you, weird shit.  
> Are you wondering how Peter remembered what happened? Well, did you notice he never went back for his drink? Maybe it was his biology, maybe he was faking. I don't know. I think it might be significant, but I couldn't find somewhere to put an explanation. Also, I don't romanticize alcohol. Sorry if it seems like that.  
> Anyway, I mostly got this finished because I'm horribly sunburned. Pray for me.


End file.
